Barbara Boswell - The Engagement Party

Hannah’s mind clouded. The music and the voices of the party guests receded into the hazy distance. She was aware only of Matthew and the strong mastery of his hands and his lips, of the intoxicating combination of hunger and pleasure he evoked in her.

Lost in this delicious world of sensation, she obeyed all the sensuous, unspoken commands. When he finally lifted his mouth from hers to kiss the slender white curve of her neck, she tilted her head to give him greater access. As his hands slid slowly, seductively, over her hips to cup her bottom and lift her higher and harder against him, she settled herself, snuggling into the cradle of his thighs. She wanted to be as close as a woman could be to a man. To have him full and hard, deep inside her.

“Hannah!” he groaned. Suddenly it struck him as having all the sexy, exotic appeal of Vanessa or Jacqueline because it was her name.

He opened his mouth over hers again, luring her tongue into an erotic little duel. His whole body was taut and hard with a wild urgency, the force of which he had never before experienced. When was the last time that a flash of sparkling eyes had sent him reeling? When was the last time that a woman’s kiss had shattered his iron control?

Never. This was the first time.

The raging need she evoked drove him higher. Her spicy feminine scent drugged him, and the feel of her rounded softness yielding to his frame obliterated all thought but one. To take her. To make her his own.

Hannah felt that virile power within him and sensed that his control was tentative at best. As was her own. She was dizzy with excitement, drunk on a passion she had never before experienced. She ached, she wanted...

“Wow! When it comes to amour, those two make our guests of honor look like chaste kissin’ cousins!” The loud, rather drunken male voice was followed by some wolf whistles and clapping. It was a shocking intrusion into the private, passionate world where Hannah and Matthew had retreated. Confused, slightly disoriented, they broke apart to find themselves in the spotlight. Literally. Sean Fitzgerald was shining a flashlight on them as he kept up a running commentary. “Say, Abby and Ben, you ought to watch these two and take notes. You might pick up some useful tips for the honeymoon.”

The crowd was laughing. Matthew blinked at the light. He draped his arm around Hannah’s waist and gazed down at her. She looked irresistibly sexy, her cheeks flushed, her raven hair tousled, her lips softly swollen from his kisses.

She also looked mortified, her big gray eyes stricken. Matthew felt possessive and protective and positively enraged that the grinning jokester was embarrassing her.

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